Part of the Solution
by catharticone
Summary: Shortly before the wedding, Bella and Rosalie have reached a tenuous accord.  Will one careless moment change everything?
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer:_ The _Twilight_ universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer. No infringement is intended.

_Author's Note:_ This is a follow-up of sorts to "Three Left Feet." Several readers expressed an interest in additional stories about Bella's interactions with each of the Cullens. I want to express my gratitude to Snowballsniper for prompting this tale.

* * *

The sun was high and bright in the late June sky. Warm air blanketed the forest; the weather would be ideal for a hike to the meadow. I knew that Edward's perfect skin would glitter in the sunlight, millions of tiny diamonds producing a rainbow of breath-taking color that even my feeble human eyes would find glorious. I sighed as I thought about what the afternoon could bring.

Sadly, my musings were merely wishful thinking. Edward was out of town, completing some clandestine pre-wedding errand with the assistance of Jasper. I would not see my fiancé for almost twenty-four hours. The only bright spot in the weekend was Alice's absence. She and Esme had flown to Los Angeles to look at flowers. Apparently whatever variety my almost-sister-in-law wanted was not available in the Pacific Northwest. I knew she would spare no expense having the plants shipped to Forks if she decided these blooms were perfect. Thus far, she had yet to find the perfect blossom.

At least her expedition gave me a respite from the near-constant experimentation with up-dos, cosmetics, manicures, and measuring tapes. I wanted desperately to marry Edward, but a very large part of me wished we could simply run away and be wed without any fanfare. However, the mere thought had left Alice traumatized, and I didn't have the heart to wound my sister like that. So I withstood it all and tried to smile through the torture.

Today, though, I could simply stop at the house and pick up the conditioner Alice had ordered from Milan and insisted that I use every day until the wedding. I shook my head at the extravagance. Still, it was a relatively painless procedure, and I had decided that my cooperation with this small matter might earn me a few points with Alice, points I could trade in later when she decided to torture me again.

The truck lumbered along the winding road that led to the Cullens' house. The engine seemed a little sluggish and clunky today; I had to accelerate harder than usual. I was glad for the moment that Edward was away. He had been begging me to accept a new car from him for months now, but I was perfectly content with my old truck. It only needed to last another few weeks. Once we were married, I would undoubtedly be compelled to drive a car fit for a Cullen. But until then, I had every intention of keeping my trusty red Chevy.

Unfortunately, it was sounding less and less trusty the closer I got to the house. If a truck could groan, my poor vehicle would. I checked the gauges; I had plenty of gas. But the oil light was on, and I knew that wasn't good.

Emmett came bounding out of the garage as soon as I pulled up in the drive. He waved, his smile huge as he darted toward me. In an instant I found myself in his massive arms, the victim of a bear hug. Yet despite his size and strength, his hold was gentle.

"Bella!" he boomed, my name vibrating through his chest. "Didn't know if you were gonna make it. That truck sounds like it's on its last legs."

He set me down, and I looked up at him with a shrug. "I think maybe it just needs an oil change," I said as casually as possible. While Emmett wasn't quite as adamant as Edward about my choice of transportation, it was best to err on the side of caution.

He laughed heartily. "Right. And a new filter, and probably some spark plugs…" He glanced at the garage. "Rose is working on the BMW. Let her take a look at this beast."

He patted the hood affectionately, causing the truck to dip down several inches. At least he didn't leave a dent…

Imposing on Rose was the last thing I wanted to do. She and I had reached a sort of tenuous accord of late, but we certainly weren't close or even friendly. I tried to be amiable, and I was glad to receive a nod rather than a sneer or grimace in return for my smiles and greetings. She was a little better when Edward, Esme, or Carlisle were around, but when it was just the two of us, she preferred to acknowledge me in the briefest way possible.

"Uh no," I replied, "that's okay. I can take it to the mechanic at the gas station—"

"What? No way, little sis! Rose'll fix it up… unless you wanna just scrap the whole thing, and I'll take you car shopping in Seattle." He grinned broadly.

"No, thanks, Emmett," I said quickly. Choosing the lesser of two evils, I continued, "If you don't think she'll mind, I guess it would be okay."

"Nah, she'll enjoy it. Come on." He reached inside the open window and popped the car into gear, then he easily pushed it toward the garage.

"Hey babe," he said as we entered the large, open area. "Can you take a look at Bella's truck? You heard how bad it sounds."

Rosalie was bent over the open hood of her BMW. Her hair was pulled back neatly, and she had her sleeves rolled up. When she lifted her head, I saw a few smudges of oil on her cheek and neck. I smiled at the sight.

"Bella," she greeted unenthusiastically. "I suppose I can see what's going on."

Her gaze moved to the truck. Emmett had pushed it up next to her car. He released the hood then lifted it for her inspection. Her eyes flicked over the engine quickly yet appraisingly as she sniffed experimentally.

"The oil needs to be changed," she said, "and these gears," she pointed, "are filthy and clogged. I can clean them; it will help as much as anything will. But I'm not sure how much longer this thing can run, even with my skills."

"But you can get it in working order?" I asked hopefully.

She nodded. "For the time being."

Her expression had shifted slightly. Now I could see a hint of interest in her features. She was in her element, using one of her areas of expertise. I realized that she didn't mind the request. Indeed, she seemed almost pleased.

Emboldened by her reaction, I blurted out an idea that suddenly occurred to me. "Would it be all right if I watch?" I asked. "I mean, if it won't bother you? I'd really like to see what you do and learn a little about it… if you don't mind…" My voice trailed off as I realized that she would not want an audience, particularly a slow-thinking, human one.

So her response genuinely surprised me. She gave me a curt nod. "If you want."

Emmett was grinning from ear to ear. "Let her help, babe," he suggested.

She eyed me warily for a second or two then nodded. "It's your truck. I suppose you should know how to maintain it."

"I'd really like that. Thanks," I responded.

Rosalie spent the next ten minutes pointing out the parts of the engine and explaining briefly how each contributed to the vehicle's function. Her tone became less condescending and more genuine as the lesson progressed. I asked a few questions, trying to tap into my knowledge of basic chemistry and physics, which seemed to please her.

After her rudimentary instruction, she began dismantling the engine, removing gears and valves, which she set on a pristine towel on the low shelf along the far wall.

"These need to be cleaned," she told me. She reached for a new rag, a small brush, and a dark, unlabeled bottle. "Use a few drops of this," she explained, uncapping the bottle, "then scrub thoroughly. Your eyes can't see the tiny bits of grease and debris, so keep scrubbing even when you think it's clean."

She spoke the last words matter-of-factly, not patronizingly. They were true, of course. I nodded in understanding and picked up a gear.

"Wipe them with alcohol, then dry them completely when you're done," she finished.

This was a task I could do, and I felt eager to accomplish it successfully. Rosalie returned to the truck as I put the first drops on the gear. The scent of the substance was familiar and somehow unexpected.

"What's in this?" I asked curiously.

"It's Rosie's own special formula," Emmett said with pride. "She makes it up herself."

"It smells like something, but I can't quite place it," I commented.

"Bergamot," Rosalie replied succinctly.

"Oh, like in Earl Grey tea," I said.

"Right… I guess," she acknowledged. "It's only one of the ingredients, but I imagine that's what you're smelling. It's an excellent solvent."

Renee was fond of Earl Grey tea, and the scent evoked memories of her sitting at the table, telling me about her latest discovery—yoga, tai chi, Pilates—and vowing that she would pursue it for the rest of her life. I almost chuckled aloud at the thought. I had tried a sip of the tea once but found it unpleasantly tingly in my mouth so had not sampled it again. And with my low tolerance for caffeine, I tried to stick with herbal teas anyway.

I worked for some time before the inevitable mishap occurred. It was nothing major, but I was frustrated by my apparent inability to complete even a simple task without managing to injure myself. I was cleaning the third gear when the piece slipped from my grasp, scraping over my wrist and leaving a small scratch. A few drops of blood welled from the minor wound. Frantically I tried to rub them away with my hand, then I reached for the nearest cloth and pressed it over my wrist.

I glanced up to see Emmett standing motionless about four feet away from me. His nostrils were flared, and his eyes had darkened. Rosalie shot to his side, gripping his arm as his body began to strain forward.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

"Go outside, Em," Rosalie said, evenly but firmly.

With a slow exhale, Emmett replied, "I… I think I'm okay." His body was less stiff now.

But she shook her head. "Just go. I can take care of this."

He gave me an apologetic nod then vanished.

"I'm sorry," I stammered.

I was trying not to breathe, trying not to catch the distinctive smell of rust and iron that I knew would leave me light-headed and queasy. But there was a smudge of blood on my hand, and the odor was creeping into my nose.

Rosalie stepped toward me, frowning as she took in my appearance. I knew I had paled, and my skin felt clammy.

"Oh, that's right," she said, her perfect eyebrows drawing together, "blood bothers you."

"I'm okay," I attempted. "I just need to wash it off… I'll just go inside…"

I took a step, but my legs were slightly unsteady. I faltered. Rosalie caught my shoulder lightly and wrapped her arm around my back.

"Come on," she said with a hint of a sigh, "I'll help you to the kitchen."

"You don't need to."

Her grip tightened as my legs weakened. "I think I do."

She escorted me through the door that led into the house. My head was spinning, and I was honestly glad for the support. My wrist stung, too. I didn't think the wound was more than a light scratch, but I was anxious to run some cool water over it.

In a few moments we were in the kitchen, and Rosalie had turned on the water at the sink. She removed the cloth from my wrist then held my forearm under the stream. For just a second the water ran pink, then the blood washed away. The scratch still stung, though.

Rosalie sealed the soiled cloth in a large baggie then threw it into the garbage. She handed me a clean dish towel as I shut off the water. I pressed it over my wrist, resisting the urge to rub at the stinging.

"Sit down," she said, pulling out a chair, "and let me look at it."

"You don't need to do that," I said. "It's nothing, really."

She huffed out a breath. "Try telling that to Edward."

We shared slightly exasperated smiles at that. But I remained concerned. "Doesn't it bother you?" I asked, glancing at my wrist. I hated to state the obvious and utter the word _blood._

"I don't think that 'bother' is the right word, Bella," she replied, sitting across from me. "It's slightly tempting to me, but less so than it is to the others, with the exception of Carlisle, and of course Edward, but he doesn't really count." She shrugged.

"Why is it less tempting to you?" I inquired, sincerely interested.

"I studied medicine, too. It was only one time, and I didn't complete the entire program, but I was exposed to blood, and I became slightly inured… not entirely, of course, but more so than Emmett or Esme or Alice."

"I didn't know that about you," I said.

"Why should you?" she replied indifferently.

"I…" I wasn't sure how to respond. Finally I said, "You've all led pretty fascinating lives. I'd like to hear more about them sometime."

"I've studied a lot of things. We all have. But I'll save the specifics for another time." She took my hand and removed the cloth. "Does this hurt?" she asked as she scrutinized the wound.

"It stings a little," I answered. I didn't want to look at it; I was afraid any traces of blood would make me dizzy again. I wasn't entirely clear-headed yet.

"It appears slightly irritated," she reported. "I'll be right back."

She shot out of the room, returning less than a minute later with a small first-aid kit. I recognized it as the one Edward had brought along when we had hiked up into the mountains earlier in the month. I suppressed a shudder at the memory of the battle.

Rosalie unzipped the bag and removed several alcohol wipes. She rubbed one carefully over the scratch, and the stinging discomfort increased. I tried not to flinch, but I couldn't resist sucking in a sharp breath. She glanced up at me.

I gave her a nod to continue. She dabbed at the wound a little more, then she lightly pressed a square of clean gauze over it. When it was dry, she smoothed on a thin layer of antibiotic cream and covered the site with a large adhesive bandage. She had just finished when we heard a tapping at the kitchen door.

Emmett stood outside, an anxious expression on his face. "Can I come in now?" he asked.

Rose nodded in response, and he stepped inside. His eyes moved to the bandage on my wrist.

"You okay?" he asked me.

"Fine. It was just a scrape."

But it still stung mightily, and now I felt a distinct urge to scratch at it. I resisted, instead standing with the intention of getting a glass of water. However, my legs remained slightly shaky; it seemed I wasn't quite over the blood yet. For a moment dizziness clawed at me. I gripped the back of the chair to steady myself.

"Hey… Bella." Emmett's voice was uncharacteristically soft, and his touch was light as he wrapped his huge hand around my shoulder. "Easy there. Maybe you should sit down again. You're still pretty pale."

His face reflected his concern. He glanced at Rosalie, who was repacking the kit. She looked up, saying, "She's all right. It's just the way blood affects her." Her tone was slightly condescending.

"I dunno," Emmett replied, studying me for a long moment. "Maybe we should call Carlisle."

"Really," I protested, "it's nothing. Like Rosalie said, I don't deal with blood well. It makes me light-headed and a little queasy."

"But it's all gone now," he said. "I can barely smell anything."

I shrugged, unsure how to respond to that. I really was a pathetically feeble human. I felt Rosalie's eyes upon me, and my many shortcomings suddenly seemed infinite. My chest grew a bit heavy at the knowledge that I couldn't complete even a simple task without breaking. I had almost started to believe that Rose was tolerating me. Now it felt like we were back to square one.

I didn't realize that I was sitting down again. Emmett must have eased me back into the chair.

"Do you need anything?" he was asking.

"Um, a glass of water, please," I replied.

He had it ready in a few seconds and handed it to me. I took a few long sips then set the glass on the table, saying, "Thanks. That helped. I'm ready to get back to work on those gears."

Rosalie shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"No, really, I'm fine."

She had crossed her arms over her chest. "It doesn't matter. I'm not willing to risk you getting hurt again. Edward's not going to be happy about this as it is."

"I won't tell him—" I began.

"You know he'll find out regardless," she replied.

"But it was my fault completely. He can't be upset with you over it."

She arched a perfect eyebrow at me. "Oh, yes, he can."

Emmett wrapped an arm around her. "We'll explain what happened. He won't be that upset."

"Maybe," she said. "But if I let you back in the garage, all bets are off. I won't be reckless with you, Bella."

Disappointment washed over me. I could almost feel it weighing down upon me. I sighed, my shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Rosie and I'll finish up with your truck," Emmett said cheerfully. "You can just wait in here. You wanna watch a movie?"

"Maybe," I responded glumly.

"It won't take us more than half an hour," Rosalie told me. She was already walking toward the door with Emmett in tow.

"Okay."

I was alone then. I rubbed at my arm, which continued to prickle hotly. I glanced down at it. The area around the bandage was red. I didn't realize I had rubbed that hard. I stood, testing my legs for a few seconds before I shuffled to the living room. I wasn't in the mood for a movie, so I picked up one of Alice's magazines. Naturally it was focused on brides, but there was an article about honeymoon secrets, which piqued my interest slightly. I opened the magazine and began to read.

However, my wrist still itched terribly. I knew that scratching usually made things worse, so I tucked my arm behind a pillow, grateful for the coolness of the fine silk.

It helped for a few minutes, but then the stinging returned, worse than before. I could not resist the impulse to scratch.

I pushed aside the pillow and turned over my arm. For a second or two, I just blinked in surprise at what I saw. My forearm was deep red, from my palm up to my elbow, and the area around the bandage was surrounded by raised, white patches.

The sight left my heart pounding as a gasp escaped me. I could feel my entire body heating up as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing.

Emmett's jovial voice tore me from my shock. "Hey Bells, did you find a— What the hell is _that_?"

He was beside me in an instant, pointing at my arm. I shook my head, trying to calm my breathing enough to answer him.

"I… I'm not sure," I stammered.

"Rose!" he bellowed. "Get in here, now!" He stood stock still, obviously unsure what to do, but I could see him breathing very tentatively.

Rosalie sauntered into the room, wiping her hands on a rag. She could not see my arm over the back of the couch. "What is it?" she asked, her tone reflecting perturbation. However, the moment she saw Emmett's expression she shot around to stand in front of me.

Her gaze swept over me, quickly finding the source of our distress.

"What the hell is that?" Emmett repeated for her benefit. "It looks really weird and painful."

Rosalie took my wrist gingerly, turning it to see both sides. The front of my arm was unaffected.

"It looks like urticaria," she said. "Hives."

"Hives," I repeated. I had heard of the malady but had never experienced it before.

She nodded. "It must be an allergic reaction—possibly to the bandage or maybe to something in the garage."

She removed the bandage quickly. The scratch was quite swollen now, entirely covered by a hive of its own. She ran her fingers gently over the area. The coolness of her skin offered me a moment of relief.

"What do we do about it?" Emmett asked.

"Get the first aid pack," she replied. "I left it in the kitchen cupboard. There should be some cortisone cream in it that will help."

Emmett was gone in a flash. Rosalie sat beside me, studying my face. "You look pale, Bella," she said.

"Um, I guess. I wasn't expecting something like this." It was hard to tear my gaze away from my strangely swollen, mottled skin.

"You've never had this reaction before?"

I shook my head. "I guess I was just surprised."

"Well, try to calm down. Your heart's racing, and that won't help."

"Right… okay…"

Emmett appeared with the kit, and Rosalie dug out a tube of cream. She applied it liberally over the entire affected area.

"It's going to take a little while to begin working," she told me. "Try not to scratch in the meantime."

I nodded.

"And Bella, really, you've got to calm down." She shook her head in mild vexation.

"I'm trying…"

"Take a couple of slow, deep breaths," she suggested.

I nodded and inhaled, but it felt like something was pressing over my chest. My throat was tight, too. It was difficult to take a full breath. With a pang, I realized that I was probably close to tears. I couldn't let Rosalie see me cry, especially over something as ridiculous as hives.

"Could you—" I inhaled shallowly then managed to finish. "Just give me… a minute?"

Rosalie stood. "I'll get you a glass of water," she offered.

"Esme makes her tea when she's upset," Emmett said.

"Do you want tea?" Rose asked.

I nodded. She took a few steps, then turned back to glare at Emmett. "Come on," she said very quickly.

"I think I should stay with her," he replied. "In case she needs anything else."

"She needs a few minutes to herself," she retorted.

I gave a small nod of agreement. Emmett followed his wife from the room. I sat as still as possible, trying to manage a decent breath or two. I reminded myself that being calm would help, that letting myself get upset was the worst thing I could do. But I couldn't seem to inhale effectively. My throat felt tighter than before, my chest heavier, and now nausea began coiling in my belly.

I wheezed in a breath, fighting against the queasiness. My head was beginning to spin, too, so I lay back against the pillows. This was a disaster. I had ruined everything. Rosalie would certainly hate me now, and Edward would be angry with her, somehow blaming her for my body's bizarre reaction. But what if he blamed me? What if he decided that I was just a wretched, weak human after all, and he didn't really want me? Visions of abject loneliness swirled through my head. My world was ending…

* * *

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

"Bella?"

Rosalie's voice was near, and I opened my eyes to see her standing over me. Her expression showed true fear.

I tried to answer, but instead of words only a wheeze came out. I pressed my hand over my chest.

"You're having trouble breathing?" She rested her fingers against my neck. "Pulse is weak and rapid," she muttered. "Crap."

Emmett was now at her side. "Rose? What is it, babe?" He was bending over me, and I had never seen him look so scared. "Oh shit! Bella?"

"Call Carlisle," she snapped.

Emmett fumbled for an instant to pull his phone from his pocket. The rapid movement of his fingers made me even dizzier, so I closed my eyes.

"Bella—no, stay with me," Rosalie pleaded. I felt her cool hands cup my cheeks.

But I could not respond. I couldn't breathe, and even though I was lying down, I felt as though I would faint. Rosalie's fingers were on my lips now, gently opening my mouth. I was vaguely aware of the coolness of her body as her face drew very near to mine.

"Anaphylaxis," she hissed. "Trachea's closing… airways are constricted… rapid and weak… yes. Hives, all up her arm."

I realized hazily that she was speaking into the phone. I also realized that someone was holding my hand. The massiveness of the fingers and palm told me it was Emmett.

"EpiPen," she nearly spat, and Emmett's hand left mine. "Looks like a pen… yes, that's it."

I opened my eyes half-way to see a blur of hands, then I felt a sharp stab in my thigh.

Emmett took my hand again. His voice was slightly shaky. "Hang on, Bella. Carlisle's on his way. He'll be here in a few minutes."

I could feel tears seeping from my eyes, and the nausea remained, but I realized that my chest wasn't quite as heavy, and my throat didn't feel as painfully tight. I inhaled a tiny breath, desperate to get some air into my lungs. To my surprise, my body seemed to cooperate, at least minimally, and I took another small breath.

"That's it," Rosalie said. "Good." Her hand rested over my chest, and her eyes were fixed upon my face.

Gradually my breathing improved, but my chest didn't feel quite right. It was still hard to inhale more than half a breath, and my dizziness remained. Emmett's and Rosalie's lips moved, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. Usually their too-fast and too-low-for-human-ears conversations annoyed me, but I was beyond caring at the moment.

Their heads turned to the doorway. Abruptly Rosalie vanished, then Carlisle was bending over me. His face was very serious, and I sensed a crack in his usually calm demeanor. However, his voice was steady as he said, "It's all right, Bella. You're going to be fine."

His fingers wrapped around my wrist for a few seconds, then he gently opened my mouth and shone a light inside. He murmured something; I caught a flash of Rosalie's blonde hair as she passed an object to him.

Before I could blink, he had placed a small mask over my face, and I realized he was giving me oxygen. After Rosalie handed him a stethoscope, he spent some time listening to my chest. She helped me to sit up for a few moments so that he could listen at my back, too. Even in my slightly foggy state, I was struck by her gentleness. It wasn't something I expected from her.

Carlisle checked the mask and the small oxygen canister he had set beside me, then he rested his hand against my cheek and smiled down at me.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked.

Since I couldn't speak with the mask, I nodded. Breathing remained more difficult than usual, but at least I could get some air into my lungs now.

"I know your chest and throat still feel tight," he said. "Your air passages are inflamed. I'm going to start an IV with some medicine that will help reduce the inflammation."

My heart sped up a bit with this news. Carlisle's thumb stroked my cheek comfortingly. "It will make you feel much better."

I gave a nod of understanding, and he turned away to prepare whatever he needed. I heard Rose whisper something to Emmett. He touched my forehead tenderly, saying, "I'm gonna step outside for a few minutes… feel better, little sis."

Then he was gone. Rosalie disappeared momentarily too, returning with one of the dining room chairs, which she placed beside the couch. She sat down on it and took my hand in an unexpected gesture of comfort.

"You're going to be fine," she said softly, capturing my gaze.

For a few moments I was mesmerized by her beautiful, golden eyes, and I barely felt the pinch as Carlisle inserted an IV port into my other hand. Her eyes darkened for a few seconds as I caught a whiff of blood. Something cold and damp swept softly over my hand, and the smell vanished, replaced by the tang of alcohol.

Carlisle attached the port to the IV line then hung the bag from the back of the chair. He stepped away, leaving me with Rosalie. She kept my hand in hers but looked away, her gaze fixing on the oxygen canister. Her brow was puckered, and her lips were a thin, tight line. She looked stricken.

I wanted to tell her that it was all right, that this wasn't her fault. I pulled my hand from hers and reached up to remove the mask. "Rose," I rasped.

"What are you doing?" she said sharply. "Leave that on; you need it."

I shook my head, but she replaced the mask quickly. Carlisle returned with a basin in his hands.

"She tried to take off the mask," Rosalie reported.

Carlisle sat on the coffee table, his expression still concerned. "Is it bothering you?" he asked me.

I nodded and managed to mumble, "Have to... talk."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he replied, "but you need to keep that on a little longer. Give the cortisone a chance to work." He cocked his head slightly, and I knew he was listening to my lungs. He murmured, "Perhaps a breathing treatment, too…"

He turned around, and I caught a glimpse of an array of equipment set out on the table. His hands moved quickly, producing a small canister with a flattened tube at the top. It reminded me of an asthma inhaler.

"This is albuterol," he told me, lifting the oxygen mask. "It's going to come out as a mist. I want you to inhale it, in through the mouth, wait a few seconds, then exhale through your nose." He smiled kindly. "All right?"

I nodded to show that I understood. However, before he could place the tube in my mouth, I moved my eyes to Rosalie and said huskily, "Not your fault."

I felt her fingers tighten very slightly around my hand, and a ghost of a smile formed upon her lips. Her features remained taut, though.

Carlisle slipped the inhaler between my lips and activated it. I took a tentative breath as he'd instructed, exhaling through my nose.

He nodded. "Good, Bella."

Rosalie held the inhaler while he wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my arm. Her eyes flicked to the dial; she was reading the results along with him. Carlisle gave a nod as he removed the stethoscope from his ears.

"Just try to relax," he said. "Your breathing should feel easier soon."

Indeed, my lungs were already feeling a little better. Rosalie continued to hold the device while Carlisle carefully bathed my forearm with tepid water and some sort of mild soap, explaining that he needed to be sure all traces of the irritant were gone. My wrist still itched, but not as badly as before, and the hives didn't appear quite as angry. After he had dried the entire area, he applied some cream. His cool fingers felt wonderful against my tender skin.

He left for a few minutes, taking the basin with him. Rosalie remained beside me, her arm and hand motionless as she held the inhaler in place. After a short time, she glanced at the doorway then spoke, her voice very soft.

"I'm sorry, Bella," she said. "I feel horrid about this. I should have realized you were having an allergic reaction—"

I shook my head, displacing the inhaler temporarily. She readjusted it quickly.

"Don't try to talk," she admonished gently. "You have another few minutes with this."

I lifted my hand to touch her wrist. I hoped the gesture would speak as clearly as words could. Her eyes flicked to my fingers, and she gave me a nod. I felt some of the tension in the room ease with the relaxation of her features.

Carlisle returned shortly, listening to my lungs again. "Much better," he reported. "The albuterol helped."

Rosalie removed the device and set it aside. I wanted to speak, but Carlisle preempted my attempts, looking down my throat again.

"The swelling has diminished," he said, "but you need to rest quietly for a while."

Rose spread a blanket over me and made sure I had a comfortable pillow beneath my head. She began to stand, but I reached for her hand, mouthing, "Stay, please."

For a moment she appeared surprised, then she settled on the chair again. Carlisle's lips twitched upward, his eyes twinkling agreeably. He seemed pleased by my request. He turned back to the table to tidy up the supplies. When he shifted around again, I lifted my hand to signal that I wanted his attention.

"What is it, dear?" he asked, quickly checking the IV line and port.

"What happened?" I asked in the slightest whisper.

He took my other hand. "Try not to talk," he said with an apologetic smile.

I nodded in response, vowing to refrain from speaking for a little while.

"Good girl," he complimented. "You had a severe allergic reaction to something—I'm not sure specifically to what. It caused anaphylaxis, which is a reaction that affects the entire body. It causes swelling of the airways, among other things. The epinephrine Rose gave you helped to combat the reaction. The intravenous diphenhydramine and prednisone are working to reduce the inflammation further; your lungs are sounding much better, and the swelling in your throat has diminished significantly."

I was aware of Rosalie's expression changing; she looked dismayed. I wasn't sure why, since it seemed I was improving steadily.

"What now?" I mouthed.

"We'll finish the IV and keep an eye on you," he replied. "Then I want you to rest for the remainder of the day. If any of your symptoms begin to return, we'll treat them similarly."

"Okay," I whispered.

"You're going to be just fine," he finished.

But I had one more question. "Could it happen again?" I rasped.

"I'm going to try to figure out what caused the reaction," he responded. "You don't have any known allergens listed in your medical records, so this is something previously unidentified, something to which you've never been exposed before. Once we know what it is, you'll just need to avoid it. I'll get you several EpiPens, too; you should carry one with you at all times, and I imagine Edward will keep one with him, as well."

Edward… My thoughts had been muddled and focused most closely on my own body. But now I felt a moment of panic when I imagined how he would react to my latest flirtation with death.

"Bella?" Carlisle questioned, his forehead creasing in renewed concern. "What's the matter? Your heart rate just spiked." He lifted my hand to feel my pulse.

"Edward," I whispered. "He's going… to be… really upset."

Rosalie straightened, her posture rigid. "Not with you, Bella," she said.

I shook my head in confusion. She closed her eyes for a moment then looked at Carlisle.

"I think it was the oil of bergamot," she said. "Bella was using it to clean some gears in the garage. It's part of a solvent solution I created…"

He nodded. "It's rare, but there have been reported cases of direct dermal contact with the oil causing cholinergic urticaria anaphylaxis."

If Rose could have paled further, she would have. She looked devastated. "I didn't know…"

I took her hand again, squeezing gently. "It wasn't your fault," I whispered again, my voice sounding like a low wheeze.

"Yes, it was," she replied bluntly. "I gave you the solution, which caused the beginning of the reaction… and then," she paused to take a shaky breath, "I think I made it worse. When you started developing hives, I put cortisone cream on your skin, and I probably had some of the oil lingering on my fingers, which exacerbated the irritation."

Carlisle nodded. "That would explain the slower reaction—why you didn't go into anaphylaxis immediately upon exposure to the bergamot."

"She cut herself," Rose continued, pointing at the scratch now visible on my arm. The hives had receded considerably. "The oil must have gotten into her bloodstream when I applied the cream." She sounded absolutely miserable.

I needed to assuage her guilt. I opened my mouth, but Carlisle rested a finger softly against my lips, reminding me to remain quiet. I gave him a pleading look then moved my eyes to Rosalie and back to him.

He nodded. "She knows, Bella."

"How could I have been so stupid?" Rosalie asked rhetorically. She dropped my hand and shot to her feet, muttering, "I'm sorry," before darting out of the room.

Carlisle could sense my distress at her reaction. He took my hand, saying, "She'll be all right, Bella. Please don't worry about her or about anything else right now. Everything is going to be fine."

His voice was soft and soothing, and I began to feel drowsy. I blinked sleepily at him.

"Just sleep now, sweetheart," he said gently. "Your body needs the rest. Don't fight it."

Despite the turmoil in my mind, I felt myself slipping into slumber. I was so tired…

* * *

_To be concluded..._


	4. Chapter 4

I dreamed of Edward: His cool lips kissing my hand, my wrist, my arm; his smooth fingers caressing my cheeks and brow; his loving voice murmuring at my ear; his strong arms carrying me to our meadow.

When I woke, I felt disoriented and groggy. I was sore and thirsty, too, but I couldn't quite remember why. The room was very dim. I blinked in an effort to see where I was, even as my hands felt the silkiness of the sheets and plushness of the mattress.

"Bella?"

Emmett's voice startled me, and I gasped. The harsh breath caused a twinge in my chest.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and then he was looming over me. His expression, however, was tender and concerned.

I realized I was in Edward's room, tucked into the bed. I was still dressed, but my shoes had been removed. Abruptly the afternoon's events returned to me. Automatically I checked my hand for the IV but found only a small bandage. I pulled my other arm from beneath the sheet to see that the hives were gone, although some blotchiness remained.

"Emmett," I croaked. "What time is it?"

"About seven. Do you want me to turn on the light?"

I nodded, and he switched on the small lamp beside the bed. "You slept for almost four hours," he informed me. "Carlisle said not to worry, that you needed it…" His expression showed that he had, in fact, been quite worried.

Moments after the mention of his name, Carlisle appeared in the doorway. He glided to the bed, smiling down at me.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Better," I replied raspily. "Thirsty…"

He produced a glass of water from the night table as I sat up. A hint of dizziness gnawed at me, but I pushed it aside. My hand shook slightly when I reached for the glass. His fingers gently supported mine as I drank.

The water helped to clear my head completely. When I had finished, I asked, "How's Rosalie?"

I glanced at Emmett first. His characteristically jovial demeanor had not returned; he remained serious. I heard a small susurration and knew that Carlisle had said something to him too softly for me to understand. My gaze moved to Carlisle.

His smile lingered, but I saw a hint of tension around his eyes. "She's fine," he replied.

"She was really upset before," I said.

He nodded. "She was worried about you."

"She sat with you until about twenty minutes ago," Emmett informed me. "She brought you up here and made sure you were comfortable."

My chest felt tight again. "That… that was kind of her."

Carlisle's smile broadened. "It was," he agreed, a touch of pride in his tone.

"I'd like to thank her," I said. "Where is she?"

"She wanted to finish up with your truck," Emmett answered. "I'll, um, let her know you're awake." He gave my hand a slightly awkward pat then vanished.

I blinked in his wake. I knew that something remained amiss. I didn't realize I was rubbing at the mild pressure in my chest until Carlisle sat down beside me, his gaze lowering to my hand. His brow furrowed.

"Your airways are clear—are you still finding it difficult to breathe?" he asked.

Honestly, I wasn't sure. My heart was thumping harder as worry over Rose coursed through me. I shook my head.

"Sweetheart, try to calm down," he said, his voice soft and steady. "Everything is fine—really."

"But she was so upset," I said between rapid breaths. "And Edward's going to be angry with her, too, just when she and I were starting to get along better. I thought he'd be happy about that, and then I had to go and have a stupid allergic reaction and ruin it all—" I was close to panting now.

"Bella," Carlisle said gently yet firmly, capturing my gaze, "stop. Just focus on your breathing. In… out… in…out… that's it."

He coached me for a few long moments until I felt calmer.

"Better?" he asked.

I nodded, my cheeks beginning to flush with embarrassment. "Thanks."

He took my hands, his cool skin soothing away the remnants of my panic. "This wasn't your fault," he told me. "It was no one's. It was simply an accident."

"But Edward's so protective of me. He'll still blame Rose—"

"He may for a minute, before he thinks it through. But I'll be certain he knows that there was no way your reaction to the oil of bergamot could have been predicted. It's an unusual allergen. Lotions containing oil of bergamot are commonly sold and used throughout the world. You could have had the same reaction to any previously unencountered substance—something in one of Alice's countless cosmetics or shampoos…"

I shook my head. "But Rose thinks it's her fault, and Edward will know that. It will only convince him further."

"Then I suppose you'll need to convince her that she wasn't to blame." He spoke so calmly, so rationally, that I almost believed I could do as he suggested.

"I don't even know if she'll be willing to talk to me."

"I'm sure she is. Do you feel well enough to get up?"

"I think so…"

He stood and held out his hand to me. He helped me from the bed, watching to be certain that my legs were fully functional. Then he looped his arm through mine and escorted me downstairs and toward the garage.

"All right?" he asked simply.

Really, my heart was pounding again, but his confidence buoyed me, and I gave him a nod before I walked into the garage.

Rosalie was bent over the hood of my truck, but I was sure she heard me enter. Emmett was nowhere in sight, so we were alone. I wondered if that was intentional on Carlisle's and Emmett's parts.

It didn't matter, I supposed. I took a steadying breath then said, "Rosalie."

Slowly she lifted her head to look up at me. "You're all right now?" she asked. While the phrasing was terse, I could hear the sentiment behind the words.

"Fine," I assured her. "Emmett told me that you took me to Edward's room and made sure I was comfortable…" I decided not to share my knowledge that she had kept a bedside vigil. "I appreciate it."

She gave me a nod. "It was no trouble." She took a step back and closed the hood. "It was the least I could do." She did not look at me as she spoke.

"Rosalie, I don't blame you. It wasn't your fault."

"I gave you the cleaning solution, and I rubbed the cortisone all over your skin," she retorted quietly.

"You had no way of knowing the solution was going to bother me, and when you saw the hives, you were just trying to help."

I saw her eyebrows draw together before she shifted her gaze to me. "I didn't even bother to wash my hands," she said. "I should have known better."

"Rose, it was a fluke, a random event that could've happened to anyone."

"But it happened to _you_. I was careless, Bella. I just didn't think."

"So you've learned something. No harm, no foul, right?"

"No harm?" she repeated with a mirthless laugh. "I hardly called anaphylactic shock harmless!"

"But you knew what to do. You gave me the injection, and I'm all right now."

"Yes, after intravenous corticosteroids and antihistamines, oxygen, and an albuterol treatment."

"I'm sure Carlisle was just being cautious," I replied, trying to keep the hesitation from my voice. It did sound rather serious when she listed everything out like that.

She shook her head. "If he hadn't already been on his way home, if he hadn't been able to get here so quickly…" Her voice faltered.

"But he did. It turned out okay."

Her jaw clenched, and she swallowed. I barely heard her next words; she spoke them very softly. "It almost didn't."

Her eyes moved to the doorway, and I realized that a car had pulled up. Rosalie's posture became even more rigid and tense. Before I could question her, Edward flew through the door. His arms were around me instantly, his embrace tentative yet tender.

"Bella," he breathed, "are you all right?"

I looked up at him and smiled, hoping the calm his panic. "I'm fine."

He cupped my cheek in his hand, his gaze moving quickly yet appraisingly over me. After a few moments he took my arm and examined the faint blotchiness.

"Does it still itch or hurt?" he asked.

"No. Really, I feel all right," I assured him. "Everyone took good care of me—Rosalie especially."

Edward stiffened, turning his head purposefully toward his sister.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

My own body froze, with the exception of my pounding heart, as I waited for the castigating tirade. To my considerable surprise, Edward simply nodded and returned his attention to me.

"Come inside, love," he said. "You should still be resting, and I'm sure you need to eat."

I was too stunned to protest as he led me away. His reaction was entirely unexpected. Was he simply waiting until later to rake Rosalie over the coals? I studied his face but found no signs of anger. He appeared somewhat worried, but I had expected that.

He escorted me to the living room, where we sank down on the couch. I noticed that all of Carlisle's equipment had been removed from the coffee table. The pillows were back in place, too, and the blanket Rose had spread over me was gone. There was no evidence of my mishap.

Edward kissed my brow and mouth gently then pulled me into his arms. His lips moved against my cheek, but I heard only a whisper of air. I closed my eyes, and for a few minutes I simply allowed myself to savor him. However, I remained concerned about his response to Rosalie.

An enticing smell drew me from my reverie. I turned my head from Edward's chest to see Jasper setting a large mug on the table. He gave me a smile and a nod then left us alone.

"He heated some soup for you," Edward informed me.

"Thank you," I said, knowing Jasper would hear me.

Edward touched the mug briefly. "It's a little too hot for you."

"I can wait," I replied.

"Are you certain you're feeling all right?" he asked.

"Yes. I'm a little tired, I guess."

"The antihistamines Carlisle gave you tend to have that effect. We want you to continue with a lower oral dose for a few days, just to be on the safe side."

"Okay," I agreed, knowing this was not the time to argue with him. His calmness still astonished me.

He caressed my cheek then moved his hand down my arm, letting it rest at my hip for several seconds before trailing his fingers over my knee. I knew he needed to touch me, to feel that I remained solid and whole. I smiled gently and snuggled closer to him. His hand settled upon my leg, his fingers kneading softly.

Unfortunately his ministrations caused a distinct twinge. I flinched against him.

"Darling, what's wrong?" he asked, his beautiful countenance contorting with concern.

"Nothing… it's just, I think that's where Rosalie gave me the shot."

He lifted his hand with a frown then carefully slid up the hem of my shorts to reveal my thigh. A nasty, purple bruise had already formed at the injection site. He brushed his fingertips beneath it.

"It doesn't hurt now," I assured him.

"I'm sorry… I didn't realize…"

"It's fine, Edward, really."

But his features remained tight. I feared this small injury would draw out his wrath at Rosalie. He had suppressed it, probably to avoid upsetting me, but I knew eventually his anger would burst forth.

"It wasn't her fault," I said softly yet firmly. "Rosalie had no way of knowing that I'd have a bizarre allergic reaction, and when I did she knew exactly what to do. Please don't be angry with her." I clasped his hands imploringly.

Once again, my fiancé surprised me. "I'm not angry with her, love."

"You're not?"

"I wish it hadn't happened, and I do think she might have been more careful. She shouldn't have permitted you to try to help in the garage."

"But I wanted to. I asked her—she didn't ask me."

"I know. Even so, it wasn't a good idea."

"She's really sorry. I've never seen her so upset or worried. She truly feels terrible about the whole thing."

"I know she does," he replied quietly.

"So you can forgive her?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, Edward. I was so worried that you'd be furious with her, that her contrition wouldn't be enough—"

He shook his head minutely. "It's not her contrition that dissipated my anger," he said softly.

Confused, I asked, "It's not?"

"No."

"Then what is it?"

He exhaled slowly before responding. "She does feel terribly guilty and regretful, but part of it stems from her thoughts when she realized you were in anaphylactic shock." He winced slightly at the words. "She was afraid the epinephrine wouldn't work and that Carlisle wouldn't be able to get here in time. During those critical minutes, she considered changing you."

Utterly stunned, I could only gape at him for a moment. "She did?"

He nodded. "She knew how much it meant to you, and she knew it would destroy me to lose you—that in the long run I'd forgive her if it meant you would be with me still, so she had decided that she wouldn't let you… go. It was a wrenching decision for her. I can't hate her for that."

"I had no idea," I murmured.

"Nor did I, until I got close enough to the house to hear her thoughts. She didn't even realize I was there. She kept going over and over it… She's still thinking about it, still upset about it."

"But she would have done it? She would have changed me?" I asked incredulously.

"I believe so."

I closed my eyes, needing a moment to process this unbelievable information. "Wow."

Suddenly Edward's hands were on my face, his fingers trembling minutely. "Bella, I don't want you to think this means I've changed my mind about your giving up your humanity. I still want you to remain human as long as possible, to experience everything you can, everything you should… It's the depth of Rosalie's devotion to both you and me that dissipated my anger. The knowledge that she was willing to go against her own beliefs to do what you wanted—knowing that she cares about you that deeply—is the reason I can forgive her. Do you understand?"

I nodded and replied honestly, "Yes."

He smiled gently yet sadly in acknowledgment. "She's not ready to share this with anyone yet. I imagine she'll tell Emmett eventually, but I don't think she wants anyone else to know."

"I won't say anything," I promised.

"Thank you."

"But knowing she'd do that—knowing that she cares that much—" I took a breath.

He gave me a nod. "I know, love. She's struggled with what she is for so long, and it's kept her from connecting with others. She's still not entirely at peace with it, but she's beginning to lower her defenses, and I think we'll all benefit from that."

I wanted to tell him how she had sat with me while I slept. But I decided this bit of information would not come from me. I would keep this one small thing between Rosalie and me.

"I think your soup is cool enough now," Edward said, reaching for the mug.

"Thanks." I took a sip. "Perfect."

"Yes," he replied a bit huskily, his gaze fixed upon me. "Always."

I wasn't sure how to interpret that last word. So I just returned his smile and had another sip of soup. Outside I heard the distinctive rumble of my truck's engine as Rosalie pulled the vehicle from the garage. I knew it was repaired and would be waiting when I was ready. Perhaps the same could be said for Rosalie.

With a brighter outlook and a renewed feeling of hope, I settled against Edward and finished my soup.

* * *

**_Fin_**

_I want to extend my warmest thanks to those who have taken the time to leave a review. I sincerely appreciate the feedback! _


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